Falling Away (Fall Away #3)(60)
Author: Penelope Douglas

Sitting down at my usual table, I dug out a file folder of copies I’d made that morning and left my journals in the bag. I pulled out the packets of papers for each of the students in my group and waited for everyone to filter into the room.

Once Penley was done with her group lesson, she let us divide into groups, and that was when I stood up.

“Follow me,” I instructed as soon as my four had come over.

Not waiting for them to ask questions and ignoring their confused faces, I walked past them and out of the room. After about three seconds, I heard their scurried footsteps behind me, and I continued down the hallway, out the side door, and all the way to the outside amphitheater.

“K.C.?” I recognized Christa’s voice. “What are we doing?”

I took a step down into the Coliseum-like venue, and continued climbing down, bench after bench, until I got to the concrete stage.

“Taking class outside today,” I answered, looking up. “I wanted us to have some privacy.”

I gestured for them to take a seat, and other than the swelling balloon in my throat, I felt fine.

Someone tsked. “But it’s so hot,” Sydney whined. “I’m sure this is illegal.”

I smirked. “Cheer up. Lacrosse is practicing today. Maybe you’ll get a show for your trouble.”

She pursed her lips, looking snotty, but she sat down between Ana and Christa. Jake plopped down on the steps and then took his glasses from his bag and slid them on his face.

I set my bag down and clutched the papers in my arms.

“For now,” I started, walking toward them, “I’d like you to raise your hands. Who here likes to write?”

I looked around as I handed the first packet to Ana. “No one?” My eyebrows shot up with my surprised smile.

“Okay.” I handed the next packets to Sydney and Christa. “How many of you like to talk?”

The girls immediately raised their hands, giggling at one another. Jake was asleep, I think.

I smiled. “Well, writing is like talking, only it’s to yourself. I talk to myself all the time.” I looked around, handing the last packet to Jake. “And so do all of you. Admit it.”

Christa smiled to her herself while Sydney rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” I begged. “You talk to yourself in the shower, in the car, when you’re mad at your parents, or when you’re trying to pump yourself up. Right?”

I raised my hand. “I do.”

Jake raised his hand, giving me a lazy smile. Eventually Ana and Christa joined.

“So, if we like talking, we like writing. What we don’t like about writing is being judged. We don’t like the format, the rules, the editing, the need to make everything perfect. But writing can be a way to formulate your thoughts when you can’t say what you need to say or you don’t know how to say what you need to say on the spot. Writing lets you take time. Find the words. And express yourself exactly how you wish. And when we’re young, it’s a way to lose yourself as well as find yourself. When we get older, we find that drugs, alcohol, and sex can do that for us, but with higher consequences. Writing is always safe.”

They watched me, leaning back against the concrete benches.

I held my packet by the staple. “Take a look at page one.”

They held up their papers, squinting at them, beginning to read.

I swallowed. “Christa? Would you read the first entry, please?” My pulse raced just beneath my skin.

She cleared her throat, sat up, and started.

11/16/2003

Dear Juliet,

I’m sorry that Mother took away your toys. Please don’t be sad. Everything is going to be good someday. If you practice you will get better. It took me a long time to make sure my shoes were lined up straight, too. You’re already so much better than I was! And I thought your hair looked super. Don’t worry about what Mother said. You’re so good at braiding. I’m sorry she spanked you. Go give her a hug and say how nice her perfume smells. Maybe she’ll let you borrow some!

I love you!

Katherina

Her voice was chipper and happy, and you could hear the exclamation points. She’d picked up the voice of an eight-year-old easily.

She looked up and pinched her eyebrows together. “This is a letter from a child,” she guessed.

I smiled gently and nodded.

“Ana?” I gestured, and she sat up. “Next one, please?”

Ana leaned forward, setting her elbows on her knees, and started.

7/14/2004

Dear Juliet,

Mother is right. You are no good! You can’t even keep your shirt from getting wrinkly before family pictures! You are worthless, and I hate you! Everyone hates you! I wish I had a different sister! You’re ugly and stupid! Everyone laughs at you, and Daddy doesn’t even want you. He only wants me! I wish you were dead!

I pressed my lips between my teeth and breathed in. I didn’t want to look up, so I just kept going.

“Sydney, turn the page. Read the next one, please,” I said, flipping the page over.

Sydney hesitated and then cleared her throat.

9/2/2010

Dear Juliet,

I made a new friend today. Her name is Tate, and she doesn’t have a mom. I wish we didn’t have a mom. Maybe you would be safe then. I love you, Juliet, and I think Tate will love you, too. She’s so beautiful and cool and kind. She makes me laugh, and I wish I could introduce her to Dad. He talked to me today, you know? Well, of course you do.

I hate that he can’t remember you most of the time, and I hate that he’s in that hospital, but at least he gives me hugs. Even if he can’t remember me, he’s the only person that gives me hugs. I wish I could see you. I wish I could look in the mirror and still see you there. I’ll bet you look awesome, and I miss your music. Why did you leave? Why won’t you come home?

Katherina

Sydney’s voice fell raspy and soft. “These are a child’s diary entries, aren’t they? To her sister,” she assumed.

I sighed. “Perhaps,” I said, looking around at the girls’ troubled faces. Jake hid behind his sunglasses, but I could tell he was listening.

“What’s the child feeling?” I asked.

“Anger,” Jake ventured. “Innocence. And a lot of sadness.”

I nodded, strolling down the row of seats past each student. “This child has no one to talk to,” I pointed out. “She’s hurting, and she has nowhere to turn to.” I tipped my chin down, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Jake, will you read the next one, please?”